


Human After All

by Ponderosa



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Pre-Slash, Secret Identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-27
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having to choose his battles is one of the hardest things about taking this bold new step towards meting out real justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human After All

The suit beneath Gordon's hand feels nothing like leather, or rubber, or any material he can recall touching in his lifetime. Its body-heat warm and probably stronger than the kevlar strapped on under his button-down. The suit is thin enough to feel the Batman's heart pumping in his chest—_thump, thump, thump_.

Human after all, Gordon thinks, the shock sucking air out of him like a kick to the keister. There's a man in that foreboding costume, a _person_, something more than a vengeful shadow slinking through the brick and mortar maze of Gotham streets.

"I need your help, and you need mine," the Batman says, voice rumbling through his ribcage to vibrate the bones of Gordon's hand like a tuning fork.

"Right." Gordon pulls his hand away, uncertain if the jump-skip of pulse was his or not. "You got here fast." Gordon glances at the signal. _Understatement of the year award goes to a one James Gordon of Gotham City._ He fishes for the power cable, yanking it out of the socket. The bright blue flare of light fades, leaves them drenched in deeper shadows. A quirky smile crops up on his face for the first time in what seems like years.

"Was in the neighbourhood."

Gordon had thought he'd have a heart attack when a flutter of cloak heralded the drop of two hundred pounds of muscle scant inches in front of him, stopped him short and sent him stumbling. He's not so sure he's recovered. He flexes his hand, knuckles cracking, and for a moment he feels his age, thinks back to being a boy and watching his father's hands turn thick and arthritic. "Well, you go first."

That chiseled profile only made sharper by the angles of the mask turns westward towards the glow. Smoke smudges the horizon, just now starting to spread into the deep blue palette of the night sky. The Batman's face might as well be stone, nothing hinted at in the set of his mouth. Gordon wonders about the half that remains obscured. As a cop—or even as a citizen of Gotham—not being able to gauge a man by his eyes puts Gordon off-centre, but to be honest, he also harbours a bit of curiousity if everything about the Batman's physique is as perfect as the suit and sculpted jaw suggests. Is the man buried behind all that darkness an Adonis? Gordon nearly laughs but for fear of hearing the tired sound of it. The city is on fire and he's on his way to developing some sort of silly schoolboy crush for a man he doesn't even know and probably never will.

"I need information."

Gordon takes the slip of paper and gives it a glance. It's too dark to read. He folds and tucks it away in his breast pocket. "Now?"

"Within a week."

"I'll see what I can do."

"The devil's quarter is going to be ash by morning."

"Won't miss it," Gordon says. "Will you?"

"Whores aren't the problem."

"No." Gordon rubs at the back of his neck, looks towards the snarl of buildings that are too dense and not important enough to save. Having to choose his battles is one of the hardest things about taking this bold new step towards meting out real justice. With the sound of sirens screaming on their way to stop the spread towards wealthier neighbourhoods, he gives the Batman a location and a name.

Gordon peers down over the edge of the building. Steam rises from a grate nestled between the police cars parked in the alleyway below, and the musty, rotting scent of the city carries a tinge of smoke. When he looks up again about to say more, the darkest shadow on the rooftop is gone. He's going to have to get used to that.

He closes his fist, feels the lingering heat from a strong and steady pulse, and listens to the feeble throb of Gotham's. The air presses around him, thick like the moments after a stretch of pounding sex when it's all a man can do but try and catch his breath while his blood rushes, stirring and needy.

Shoving away from the building's edge, Gordon slides his hands into his pockets. He doesn't quite know what to think about the man he sees in the mirror these days, but there's not much he can do about it. He's charting his own map with no choice but to let things ride out. He flicks a wave that's part salute, and holds to that shaky, terrifying hope that somewhere underneath the layer of malignance and disaffection, beauty remains.

"See you next time you're in the neighbourhood," he tells the night.


End file.
